Coroner Monroe turned again to Louis and asked him where he was the evening before.

The man was now decidedly agitated, but by an effort he controlled himself and answered steadily enough: 

“I have tell you that Mr. Crawford say I may go wherever I like.  And so, last evening I spend with a young lady.”

“At what time did you go out?”

“At half after the eight, sir.”

“And what time did you return?”

“I return about eleven.”

“And did you then see a light in Mr. Crawford’s office?”

Louis hesitated a moment.  It could easily be seen that he was pausing only to enable himself to speak naturally and clearly, but it was only after one of those darting glances at Miss Lloyd that he replied: 

“I could not see Mr. Crawford’s office, because I go around the other side of the house.  I make my entree by the back door; I go straight to my room, and I know nothing of my master until I go to his room this morning and find him not there.”

“Then you didn’t go to his room last night on your return?”

“As I pass his door, I see it open, and his light low, so I know he is still below stair.”

“And you did not pass by the library on your way round the house?”

Louis’s face turned a shade whiter than usual, but he said distinctly, though in a low voice, “No, sir.”

An involuntary gasp as of amazement was heard, and though I looked quickly at Miss Lloyd, it was not she who had made the sound.  It was one of the maidservants, a pretty German girl, who sat behind Miss Lloyd.  No one else seemed to notice it, and I realized it was not surprising that the strain of the occasion should thus disturb the girl.

“You heard Louis come in, Lambert?” asked Mr. Monroe, who was conducting the whole inquiry in a conversational way, rather than as a formal inquest.

“Yes, sir; he came in about eleven, and went directly to his room.”

The butler stood with folded hands, a sad expression in his eyes, but with an air of importance that seemed to be inseparable from him, in any circumstances.

Doctor Fairchild was called as the next witness.

He testified that he had been summoned that morning at about quarter before eight o’clock.  He had gone immediately to Mr. Crawford’s house, was admitted by the butler, and taken at once to the office.  He found Mr. Crawford dead in his chair, shot through the left temple with a thirty-two calibre revolver.

“Excuse me,” said Mr. Lemuel Porter, who, with the other jurors, was listening attentively to all the testimony.  “If the weapon was not found, how do you know its calibre?”

“I extracted the bullet from the wound,” returned Doctor Fairchild, “and those who know have pronounced it to be a ball fired from a small pistol of thirty-two calibre.”

“But if Mr. Crawford had committed suicide, the pistol would have been there,” said Mr. Porter; who seemed to be a more acute thinker than the other jurymen.